


All Our Fears Come True Again

by musiclily88



Series: Wasted Youth// There Wasn't Much to Waste [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Physical Abuse, Smut, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiclily88/pseuds/musiclily88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wondered when he became used to the taste of blood on his tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Our Fears Come True Again

**Author's Note:**

> So. I realize this series is terribly melodramatic and depressing, but then, so I was at that age. Legitimately: melodramatic, depressed, and ridiculous. BUT it also speaks to me on a level far deeper than I’d care to admit. Plus Liam+Louis make my heart hurt. IN A SEXY WAY.
> 
> As always, your comments and criticism are so appreciated! I have no idea how this series is coming across, and I sort of started writing it on a drunken whim one night when I was feeling sorry for myself. What works? What doesn’t? INQUIRING MINDS! xx

Louis was hardly reformed, in part because he had no idea how to fix himself and mostly because he never cared to try. He attended a few more classes as of late, mostly because he realized Liam was in them too—and that meant he could stare at him and poke him and tease him mercilessly. He liked watching Liam bite his lips over an enthusiastic grin, liked muttering about dirty Renaissance-era puns or the purpose of pistils and stamen when they were supposed to be paying attention. A small part of him was glad Liam usually paid attention in class, since that meant he himself could slack off even more.

And sure, he had told Liam to come over the night of Lottie’s _procedure._ And he had made limited eye contact and bit his own tongue before demanding that Liam be rough with him, because while he disliked feeling vulnerable he still wanted to feel grounded. And if he had shortly ushered Liam back out the door only to down two sleeping pills and a bottle of wine, he was fine that no one knew but him.

Half the time he spent his days in a foggy hangover or a pupil-blown drug haze. He assumed this was a bad thing, if the warning videos his teachers had shown him during primary were anything to go by, but he found it difficult to care. As long as he managed to artfully rumple his hair each morning and step out of his Mercedes as though he owned the world, he felt he could do anything.

Which he probably could, if he put forth any effort at all. But he preferred to piss his time away, and he was intrigued to learn his sister was all too willing to join him.

He sat behind the wheel of his car, Charlotte curled up into the passenger side. “Well, now that you’re not pregnant, what are you gonna do with the rest of your life?” he asked, throwing the car into park.

“Dunno,” she mused in return. “Though I might try Disneyland.”

“We’re getting you on birth control first, you underage slut. Disneyland can wait.” He turned the car off and spared her a glance.

“Whatever. Like you don’t get monthly AIDS tests to make sure you haven’t caught anything gross from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Wow, you are jaded as fuck,” he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I learned from you.” She opened the door and grabbed her purse.

“No, if you had learned from me, you would be using effective birth control.” He stepped out of the car and slammed his door shut with unnecessary force.

“Not fair, you can’t get pregnant,” she called, shutting her own door. She caught up with him quickly, matching her strides to his. “Also we’re going shopping after this. You need to buy your fuckstick some clothes that don’t make him look like he’s a vagrant.”

“Stop being such a bitch. It’s unattractive.”

“I don’t even remotely care what other people think is attractive. I only care what I think.”

They walked into the commercial medical building, made up of shiny glass, metal cross-bars, and glossy waxed floors. Louis, as he occasionally did, felt out of place and a little bit twitchy. He stuck close to Lottie’s back and felt something singe inside his veins. Then he once again found himself stuck in a waiting room as doctors examined his sister’s unmentionable bits.

He sat until his arse went numb, scrolling through his phone and thumbing through magazines that looked waterlogged. He shifted in his seat and let his head fall back against the wall, bored and slightly nauseated.

“Um,” he heard from a vague spot to his left, from a voice that sounded familiar. “Louis?”

“Well, fuck me sideways. If it isn’t Liam Payne.” Louis brought his head forward and smiled languidly, feeling as though he might be back on relatively familiar ground. He frowned when he noticed that Liam’s arm was in a sling. “What the hell? What happened?”

“It was stupid. Clumsy. Don’t want to talk about it, yeah?”

“Fell down some stairs? Ran into a door? Got in a bar fight?” Louis asked lightly, crossing one of his legs over the other. “Hey, sit down.”

“What are you here for? I don’t want to—”

“Sit down, you absolute moron. Keep me company while I wait for my sister to get her cooter buttoned up.”

“You are very weird, Tommo.” Liam plopped into a seat next to Louis, slumping back against the seatback.

“Sorry I’m not up on the medical lingo. I guess she’s just really getting her ovaries plugged? Or her womb shellacked? I don’t understand how women’s bodies work.”

“Clearly.”

“How’s the arm? Did they give you some fun drugs at least?”

“Yeah, a couple. Enough.” Liam wiggled in an approximation of a shrug.

“That’s good. I’ll buy the extras off you when you’re through.”

“Sure, whatever.” He picked up a magazine and fell silent.

Louis clacked his jaw shut and realized that Liam and Lottie were about to meet, and he absolutely knew that Charlotte was going to insult Liam’s clothes. Not that he’d never done exactly the same thing, but he felt a little socially responsible, and he had no idea why.

A few minutes later, Lottie trotted back into the waiting room, raising a brow at Louis as she noted Liam’s presence. She slid into the seat on Louis’ other side, ducking in to murmur in his ear.

“So. He’s coming shopping with us then?”

“It was your idea,” Louis pointed out with a sharp grin.

“Fine,” she snapped, flicking a small pill into her mouth before shoving the container back into her purse.

“Attagirl.”  
***  
“I’m not trying that on,” Liam said, back pressed against the wall near Lottie’s dressing cubicle.

“My _little sister_ picked it out for you, Liam,” Louis pointed out.

“I’m not going to buy it, though, so why bother trying it on?”

“Don’t be daft,” Louis responded, throwing the jacket into Liam’s shoulder. “Try it on. It’ll be hot.”

“I don’t really take orders, Lou.”

“Don’t ask me to beg.”

“I’m not trying on the damn jacket, all right, my arm’s in a sling.”

“Fine. Then I’ll buy it without you seeing how it looks on you.”

“You won’t dare.”

“You clearly don’t know me at all.”

Liam scrabbled at Louis ineffectually—obviously due to his hurt arm more than anything else, given that he could certainly overtake Louis at his physical best—and they both laughed lightly.

“I’m buying it,” Louis demanded, pursing his lips.

“You aren’t.”

“I honestly think my sister’s buying crotchless pants and arseless chaps, so. I’m buying a lot of things today.”

“You and your sister have a really weird relationship.”

“You have no idea.”

“You’re not buying me that fucking jacket.”

Louis bumped in closer, crowding Liam with his body. “I am,” he whispered with a wicked grin. “And you’re going to wear it when we fuck later.”

Liam swallowed, breath light when he exhaled. “I hate you.”

“I know.”

“You two are disgusting,” Lottie said, exiting the changing room with an arm full of clothes. “You are driving me to drink.”

“Are you allowed to mix alcohol with birth control?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” She shoved the clothes into Louis’ hands, smiling when he scrambled to hold them all.

“You two are weird.” Liam adjusted his sling, frowning.

Lottie rolled her eyes. “You’re the one fucking him. Which, kudos, by the way. You’re a lot cuter than the last guy.”

“Like you pick such winners, Lot,” Louis countered with a roll of his eyes. He and his sister turned toward the checkout. “Come on, Liam.”

“Not until you get rid of the jacket,” he called, but he trailed along behind them.

“No way. I’m buying it. And you’re not going home yet.” He got in the queue behind Charlotte, who was tapping absently on her phone. Louis knew she wasn’t listening.

“What, so you intend to keep torturing me?” Liam asked, knocking his shoulder against Louis’ own before wincing in pain.

“Yes. I’ll certainly be the death of you yet.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re terrible at playing savior, by the way.”

“Whatever.” He shot Lottie a glance. She was still ignoring them. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“No.” Liam spared Charlotte a glance too. “Not because you don’t care, because I’m sure you think you do, but I don’t want to discuss it. Ever. And I know you don’t either.”

“Christ, why does everyone think I’m such an arsehole? I’m not the one who stuck your arm in that sling.”

“It was rugby,” Liam stated simply.

“Right,” Louis answered with a sigh. “Tell people whatever you want. I’m not your keeper.”

“Then stop acting like your words have any effect on my behavior, yeah?”

Louis shrugged, not wanting to admit that the reproach stung a bit. Maybe being an uncaring bastard was easier than caring—or at least easier than attempting to care. “Fine. I’m buying you the jacket for my benefit anyway. I require eye candy, and since everyone else in this fucking city hates me because I’m rich and inordinately good-looking, well, you’ll have to do.”

“To be fair, I think the people at school mostly hate you because they’ve met you,” Liam responded with a roll of his eyes.

“Not my fault they wither under the intensity of my rapier wit.”

“A wittier person would have already convinced me to let you buy the jacket.” Liam halfheartedly tried to pull it from Louis’ grip.

Lottie’s attention snapped to them with a quick turn of her head. “You might as well let him buy it. You’ll need to wear a jacket if you ever come to the club with us, after all.”

“I don’t want to go to the club with you,” Liam barked out immediately, eyes wide with panic.

Louis’ brows furrowed. “I should be insulted by that, right?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. But I really don’t want to go.”

“Fine.” Louis shrugged. “Consider the non-invitation rescinded then.”

Liam spluttered slightly when he realized Louis still had every intention of buying the jacket, and he walked away from the till in a huff. He sent Lottie after Liam, even after she rolled her eyes and announced that they were both being “idiots.”

Louis wasn’t sure if he actually was insulted; all he knew is he was annoyed and frustrated, as he much preferred having the upper hand. In this case he had no idea who had the moral high ground, given that he was unused to contemplating such niceties. He was pretty sure he was right, though. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Liam would look ridiculously hot in the jacket.

He grabbed the bags of clothes after the sharp-eyed employee rang him up, not bothering to thank her for doing her job. He joined Liam and Lottie near the entrance of the store and he strode past them. “Come on. We’re hotboxing on the way home.”  
***  
After raiding half the pantry and a quarter of the wine fridge, Liam and Louis ensconced themselves on the couch in the palatial _front room,_ television blaring.

After Louis told him that he was fairly sure no one but Lottie was home—and even if his mum found Louis with a hand down some lad’s trousers, the most she would do was take a benzo, smile indulgently, and go take a bath—Liam kissed a lazy stripe along Louis’ neck, nipping at his jaw.

Louis huffed out a tiny laugh. “M’ticklish, fuck.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Liam rolled his eyes and shoved a hand underneath Louis’ very thin and very expensive t-shirt. Louis shifted slightly, slotting their hips together and grinding up into Liam’s touch.

“So is this what you do all day, then? Instead of working like us mere mortals, I mean.”

“There are worse things I could be doing,” Louis pointed out, grinding up again.

“Well yeah, that’s not what I meant.” Liam stilled his hand, eliciting a small noise from the back of Louis’ throat.

“I’m not killing babies, or robbing pensioners, all right? I hardly have a fucking ASBO, like.”

“I said that’s not what I meant!”

“Whatever. I’m getting another drink.” Louis moved out from underneath Liam and padded his way into the kitchen, not bothering to straighten his shirt or hide his semi. He stopped short in shock when he saw his stepdad hunched over the sink, muscles in his arms taught against he granite countertop.

“What are you doing?” he asked before he could stop himself, moving his arm so it covered the front of his trousers. His gesture was, of course, ineffectual.

His stepdad turned around slowly, eyes dark and his jaw clenched. “I could ask you the same thing.”

And Louis knew he was being a brat, he knew it. He knew he was asking for shit when he simply shrugged and walked over to the wine fridge to grab a new bottle of white. He removed the cork and necked straight from the open lip. Then he fished a pill from his pocket and set it on his tongue, washing it down with more wine.

“Have some self-respect, Lou,” his stepdad growled before he left the room.

And if he hadn’t thought he was a pathetic waste of space before, he definitely did now.

And if he rounded on his heel, stormed back into the front room only to pounce on Liam—not caring one jot whether anyone saw anymore—it was out of his control, at this point. He had absolutely lost control of everything but his roaring libido, and he was letting it consume him. He had perhaps found a purpose.

***

He wondered when he became used to the taste of blood on his tongue. The metallic tang coated his throat every time he bit his lip or took a breath or said someone's name. 

He'd long gotten used to the fuzzy edges on his vision and the grey tinge his world had taken on, both of which were only alleviated by the shiny-pretty pills and the syrupy wine he swallowed. He thought maybe he'd gotten used to them during childhood, found them a normal part of growing older. 

Only when he realized that other people could hug one another without having a panic attack did he realize he and his family were fundamentally flawed. The realization didn't sting so much as settle into his gut, offering a comforting weight to counterbalance his empty chest.

His days passed slowly and quickly depending on what coursed through his veins and he accepted it all with a lazy shrug. He knew there was something missing at his core—knew he was as good and as useful as so much shit—but the burn of that knowledge was gone. Nothing fizzed through him, nothing stuck; things slid off him and he batted not one eye. Somehow he was immune to everything.

Others' intensity mystified him. Vague curiosity was all he could muster when anyone mentioned _love_ or _faith_ or _trust._ He acted with impunity whenever lust inspired—he made it his mission to get Liam hard at the most inconvenient times during any given schoolday—and let that be his guiding light. As melodramatic as it sounded, lust was his compass and his mission was simply to alleviate the dry, slogging boredom that he was so very tired of.

Part of him wished he got off on pain—a rowdy bloody fistfight seemed a good way to pass the afternoon, but Louis found he got nothing out of it. Even beating someone down when they deserved it (he always managed to get justifiably angry whenever someone called him a "dirty fucking faggot") didn't really cut it.

He understood anger. He understood bone-searing rage and white-hot flashes of energy. He understood absolute fury. But none of it lingered long enough to drive him to _do_ much of anything. The pills were a fun distraction from the gaping nothingness. They served his purpose quite well, most days, and wine smoothed over what they couldn't. So if he drank himself to sleep every night to avoid staring down the black pit of his own worthlessness, well, it was no one's business but his own.

And maybe the world really would be served better if he got a drink-driving charge, complete with ASBO and community payback. At least then he'd be beautifying the city.

When he got too morose, a handful of capsules were all he needed to pick himself back up again—or he would let Lottie talk him into "lying out" in the back garden to get a tan, flirting with the yard guys; and if Louis sometimes met one of them in the back shed only to fuck them into a wall, it was only _his_ business. If he thought about driving his car off a bridge, only he needed to know.

He sublimated this last desire by driving harder into other people—by fucking them or by mocking them or by getting them hot. 

He smirked at one of Liam's friends and tilted his head chin up. Liam's friend—all dark eyes and shadowy stubble inside a black leather jacket—grimaced at him and rolled his eyes. Liam walked off amidst the laughter of another hanger-on—this one a blond—and strode to Louis.

"He's got the hots for you, by the way."

"Who, Niall?" Liam asked, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I think he’s pretty straight, actually.”

"S'that the Irish one? No, the quiffy one who smokes."

"You have a quiff,"Liam pointed out. "And you smoke." He plucked the fag from Louis' fingers and took a drag.

"The one with the silly name."

 _"Zayn?_ He's got a girlfriend."

"Yeah. So do you."

"Not the same thing."

"Might be the same thing. I mean, he's Muslim right? Wouldn't bet on his family being so supportive." Louis watched Liam smoke and realized that Liam was not very good at it.

"Well you don't know them. They're actually very lovely," Liam said lightly, tossing the cigarette way before wrenching open the passenger door.

Louis grinned, yanking his own door open. "You're in a fun mood."

"You know you're a twat right?"

"Yeah, but I'm a twat who gives great head and puts up with you pulling my hair."

Liam huffed out a breath. "You love when I pull your hair."

Louis started the engine. "Yeah this is gonna sound even twattier but I don’t actually love anything. At all."

"Are you actively drunk right now? Because if you are, I'm gonna need you to give me the keys so I can drive us before you commit vehicular manslaughter."

"Please,” Louis scoffed. “I don't drink at school."

Liam raised his hands in mock surprise. "Oh your morals extend so far, I had no idea."

"Dude. I got drunk at during class two schools ago and fell down a staircase. Reason I got kicked out actually. Plus I broke my wrist." Louis flopped his hand up and down to demonstrate.

"You're joking." Liam stared at him, slack-jawed with gullible disbelief.

"Had to jack off with my other hand. It was obnoxious."

"You're the one being obnoxious, actually."

"Seriously, though. He's into you, mate. It's kinda hot, right, you should ask him if he's up for a threeway."

They drove along in relative silence for many moments. 

"I think I actually hate you a little bit." Liam crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging obscenely.

"You and my sister can start a club. I suggested t-shirts but maybe you would prefer a muscle tank?" Louis grinned and gripped tightly onto the steering wheel. "And I think you're incapable of hating anyone, by the way. Except your dad, probably."

"Except you know nothing about me, do you.”

Louis shrugged. "S’not my fault. You're always free to share your secrets in the trust circle otherwise known as my car."

"Wouldn't that require me to trust you?" Liam's statement was belied by the small smile that played at his lips. He loosened his arms from around his chest.

"Oh what-the-fuck-ever. I've never done anything even remotely mean to you."

"Only because you're not as prone to violence as some."

Louis shrugged. "Violence is boring. I almost wish I did like violence. It could really break up the monotony of the day, you know?"

"No. I don't." Liam started jiggling his leg manically, shifting his glance to stare out the window again.

"Fine. Well I have no intention of outing you or fucking you over. Because that would screw up what has otherwise been a mutually beneficial situation, you see?"

"Stop speaking to me like I'm a child."

"I'm just saying. I'm not as terrible a person as everyone thinks I am. It takes too much effort to be a villain."

"How enlightened of you."

"It is, rather, isn't it?"

"You do understand sarcasm when you hear it, right?"

"I am a master of all things. Or a jack of all trades? Including sarcasm."

"Fuck off."

Louis raised a brow. "You're just annoyed you couldn't think up an appropriate dirty pun to counter me. Master of masturbation? Jack of all jack-offs? Wasted opportunity."

"I will do literally anything to get you to shut up."

"Oh? I've always fancied the idea of shagging in a lift."

"You just sounded ridiculously British, I hope you know." Liam leaned against the passenger door, shooting Louis a sidelong glance.

"You scared to shag me in a lift then?"

"Seems pointlessly risky, yes."

"We can fuck in the bathroom at a club or something if you'd rather." Louis snaked a hand across the gearshift and rubbed Liam's thigh gently.

"Stop."

"Lock ourselves in a cubicle in the bathroom at school, go at it for hours?" He squeezed down against the rope-hard muscle. Liam tensed and pulled away.

"Stop!"

Louis ripped his hand away. "What the fuck is your problem exactly? I'm tired of stepping on landmines. It’s getting old,” he muttered icily.

"You act like it's so fucking easy. Like I don't have to always watch my back and can afford to sashay around without one fucking care in the world. Like I can pretend this is something to be proud of."

"Sashay?" Louis replied, lip curling. "Oh right cuz I'm gay and all gay guys love a good sashay. Forgot."

"We can't all have parents who don't fucking care, all right?"

"Cute." Louis clenched his jaw and stared directly at the road, not daring to spare Liam a glance. If he took his eyes of the road, he knew they would end up in a ditch.

Liam had the good grace to pitch his voice apologetically. "Fine, I'm sorry."

"No you're not. At all."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I actually know you, despite what you tell yourself. And that's how I know you're not sorry, and you do actually hate me." Louis clenched his jaw and gripped harder on the steering wheel.

Liam threw his arms up, one nearly colliding with Louis’ face. "Then what the fuck are you doing here? What are you even doing with me? If that's what you think of me!” His voice nearly cracked.

"Do you see any alternatives on my horizon?" Louis asked with measured calm.

"Just a fuck, then." Liam pulled back, shoving his shoulder blades against the inside of the passenger door. “I see.”

"You're the one who called me your most recent conquest, fuckface. You do remember that right? Or are we not in the business of recall today. Keeping in mind you _also_ just called me a camp fag whose parents hate him, yeah? So in the scheme of things, I'd say you're the asshole here."

Liam went utterly still. "Sorry."

"No. You're not." Louis shrugged. "But I honestly don't care, okay? I just fucking don’t."

Liam groaned loudly, and the noise he emitted sounded like a guttural half-scream. He scrabbled against the door with one hand, trying to find purchase against the handle. “Let me out here.”

“What?”

“I’m walking. Just let me out.”

Louis swerved to the side of the road, haphazardly screeching to a stop. He stayed silent as Liam threw himself from the car and stomped off. Just like that, Louis was alone.

***  
Louis kept up his habit of sitting on his car, surveying the collection of twats that made up his class. He continued to smirk at Liam whenever he saw him, but remained unsurprised that he refused to say hello. Liam also refused to smile at him, or share a textbook with him, or do his coursework for him. 

He actually refused to glance at him at all, not even when Louis saw him being dragged across the carpark by an oversized man with greying hair. 

Louis could sense the panic radiating off him from a distance of more than two hundred yards but he stayed stationary. He narrowed his eyes and watched them retreat across the lot. He shook his head with a shrug before sliding off the bonnet of his car. 

Then he nearly got body-checked into the door. Straightening up with a muttered curse, he asked, “What do you want, Zayn?” He attempted to straighten his shirt but was impeded by Zayn’s shoving hands.

“I’d really like for you to fuck off, actually.” Zayn crowded him closer to the car, awkwardly heaving their chests together.

“So protective of your boyfriend. How adorable.” Louis shrugged out of the circle of Zayn’s body and rounded on him. He felt vaguely more in-control when his body was no longer between Zayn and the car.

“He’s not—you know what, that’s not even the point.” Zayn shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and scowled, taking a step backward.

“What is the point, then, Ace? We’re burning daylight.”

Zayn sighed. “You’re killing him, okay? You need to back off.”

“I’m not the one beating his face in every other day.” Louis widened his stance and placed his hands on his hips.

“You’re the cause and the symptom, though, okay? Just let it alone,” Zayn requested, giving him a pleading glance. 

Finally Louis felt he was gaining traction. He shook his head gently. “I have been leaving him alone.”

“You’re lying.”

“I haven’t seen him in nearly a week. Hand to God.” Louis opened his palm and raised it as though taking an oath.

“Then who—”

“Looks like he’s found another boyfriend. Too bad he’s still not into you, eh?” Louis smirked, convinced he was mere moments away from getting punched in the face.

Zayn’s face darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Fuck off, mate.”

“Get away my car and I’ll do it gladly, _mate.”_

Zayn slouched sideways, shoulders sagging. “Fine. Whatever.” He threw his hands up in defeat.

“Let me know if you need a good lay,” Louis offered, opening his car door with a mischievous smile. “I come highly recommended.”

Louis enjoyed the startled, enraged look Zayn shot him as he drove away. He shoved two pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry.


End file.
